Everything after this is unnecessary. You are not obligated to read any further.
THE OFFICE OF HIGH OCTANE HUMAN RESOURCES
Best Arena Storage Room B Human Resources Suite 97
With Refueled a few days away High Octane Human Resources would like to remind you that this post is unnecessary. Reading it is not required nor is it mandatory. It is required to exist for legal reasons. If you are still reading please be advised you may stop.
“Hopefully grandpa doesn’t find out I Lindsay Troyed this for shits and giggles. Don’t write that down.” Sutler Reynolds-Kael, President of Human Resources, when asked for comment.
This message was sandbagged to save time.
“You’ve got six more reps, son.”
Herman Gale was the kind of old school coach you expected to find haunting some Godforsaken YMCA in the darkest corners of Chi-town. Thinning grey hair was swept over bald head while a disapproving frown seemed to draw all of his skin down around his face giving him a bulldog like appearance.
“I’m not your son.” Sutler spat out as he pulled his chin above the pull-up bar.
“Weird thing to get hung up on, son.”
Coach Gale pulled a notepad out of his pocket and began to scribble some notes down furiously. Sutler wanted to ask what he was writing but his mind is yanked back to his pull ups as he let himself descend once again, his arms burning as the muscles relaxed for a moment. Sucking in another gasp of air he pulled himself up.
“Good, good form. We need to start packing some muscle on that frame of yours if you want to go for a title.” Gale barked as he peered up from his notepad. “I want to get another twenty pounds of lean muscle on you over the next three weeks to start getting you ready for a championship.”
Adding another twenty pounds to his weight? Sutler had questions but they’d have to wait until afterward. He pulled another rep out as the sweat ran down the small of his back sending a shiver up his spine.
“We’re going to sacrifice a little speed to add a lot of power, put some real aggression behind the Son of the Sin to keep a man pinned to the ground.”
“..I prefer..” the Son of Scions managed to hiss. “..submission victories..”
Coach Gale paused to look at Sutler, judging the boys technique as he executed another pull-up.
“Keep the arms straight, avoid your hips swinging so much when you pull yourself up.” Gale grunted as he waddled to his trainees side. “Submission victories are great but a knockout is faster. I’ve seen the competition, most of them will stay down for three seconds a lot easier than forcing a tap. Just the same a little more muscle, a little more power will help you with that goal. Twenty pounds of muscle will get you that there.”
Nodding to himself Coach Gale began to drone on about the exact numbers that he had run to decide upon the number of twenty pounds. There were explanations about kinetics and dieting though all Sutler could focus on was the burning in his arms as he finished his workout. Herman had stopped speaking when Sutler managed to fire out his last rep, dropping away from the bar and landing gingerly on the gym’s matted floor.
“Take a few minutes then we’re hitting the ring for some running exercises.” Gale barked in his authoritative voice.
“..ugh.. I hate running the ropes.”
“In a week you’ll either love it or be dead. You figure out which one.”
Sutler glared at the ring in the center of Six Time Academy with a resentful expression. If the Coach’s words were true the young Reynolds-Kael began to contemplate if death was really as bad as every Catholics were convinced it could be.
The Son of Scions nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the voice beside him. So lost in his debate between running the ropes and death he hadn’t noticed the man in the yellow leotard with a question mark in the center of it in red. The man himself reminded Sutler of a lima bean, stout with spindly appendages who looked more like a middle-aged used car sales rep than a professional wrestler.
“Hi yourself, who the fuck are you where did you come from?” the Prince of High Octane snapped as he did his best to steady his heart beat. “..you don’t look like someone Uncle Mike would let into his school.”
Offering an awkward smile with a mouth full of jagged, crooked teeth the man extended his hand.
“Mark. Question Mark. I love wrestling and decided to give it a try after I was fired for trying to start a union in Amazon.”
“That’s a pretty awful back story, you must have signed up online huh?”
“How did you know?”
“I’m an excellent guesser. Listen, Lee Best hates unions so he’d probably be on Amazon’s side and he also is an investor in this gym so I wouldn’t go introducing yourself to people that way. Also what the fuck kind of name is Question Mark?”
“I’m not sure, it was assigned to me when I joined the gym. My real name is Beaux Da-”
“I don’t give a shit about your shoot name, Question Mark, your name makes much more sense now. Six Time Academy is a lot like Ellis Island, when you land here the registration people make your name more Wrestling Culture accurate, Mark.”
“Yeah. It’s a long walk for a joke but I have a feeling Desmond LeRoux isn’t showing up so who the fuck cares.”
What up, Desmond, I hope life is treating you well.
As the President of Human Resources I’ve taken a look at your personnel file which I have to say is pretty depressingly sparse. You’re a poor kid who grew up in southwestern Louisiana and was told your entire life never to do this or that.
What exactly is this or that?
Anyway you graduated high school at 17 years old with a 4. GPA and got a middle-aged score on your ACT. Went to Harvard on a full scholarship for two semesters but dropped out and trained to become a professional wrestler.
What a story.
Truly you are an inspiration to all young, poor but brilliant people everywhere, you too can fail at college and become a professional wrestler with a chip on his shoulder who can’t do this or that.
Usually I like to try to deconstruct a guy based on what I know about them but I think if I broke you down anymore I’d be stuck with the world’s dampest periodic table. Who gives a FUCK what your GPA in High School was? Why did you include this in your work bio?
Listen I understand you’re a young guy with not a lot of back story to squeeze into a small bio page, I know that it’s hard getting your wheels rolling, catching traction and making this crazy story of ours work. We’re close to the same age, we’ve both been shit on most of our lives and we both desperately need a win on Refueled. Only I’m here to WIN and you’re here to.. I don’t know, talk about how you were really smart in the LOWEST RATED SCHOOL SYSTEM IN THE UNITED STATES!
Look it up, it’s fucking pathetic.
Makes sense that someone who does so well in the system lasted only two semesters in Harvard before dropping out to become a wrestler.
And that’s really all I have. It’s not that there probably isn’t more it’s just that I can’t be bothered to find out about it cause I’m lazy. I want to care about you, I want to have an interest in you but unfortunately there just isn’t enough useful data in your profile to form a full thought let alone a meaningful string of insults. Nothing about you excites me to do that. Nothing I have seen about you instills anything more then a very intense “meh” and a joke about wrestling marks,
So let’s just make this match a quick and painless little affair where I beat you in the center of the ring and we go along with our lives. You can go on being.. whatever it is you are and I’ll go on to be a winner. To bring things back around to the start of all this, the only piece of meaningful trash talk I have about you, let me leave you with this parting thought.
Just like that Louisiana school system that made you, you’re pretty fucking pathetic.
Enjoy the loss, Demonte Lirox.